I Dream of Angels
by flickeringwitchlight
Summary: He's not good, and it takes a while to realize that he can never be perfectly good and pure, but Steve feels at peace with what he has.


**Warnings:** Pretty vague smut. Was kinda inspired by Alternate Universes, a Clark/Lex (Smallville) fic. Title from Wonderful by Everclear. Didn't read through it so it's just a rough draft because reasons.

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The kisses are what wakes him up, brings him out of the foggy sleep that he only seemed to be barely touching. He couldn't sleep very well the last few months, anyways, he decided, catching the lips of the person above him but exhaustion taking over every so often. Only nibbles and small brushes of lips were what he could return.

Of course, Steve knew who was above him, straddling his lap, hands on his waist, the blanket that he had been curled up in kicked off somewhere else. He could always tell who it was, the familiar shape of the lips he spent so often kissing when they were hidden in other hotels, the hotels that he had constantly changed from every so often, fake names and no other way of contact than the abrupt pulling Steve out of his drawings or out of the shower just to see him.

Always so impulsive. A downside, and sometimes something positive he looked forward to. But Steve knew that every time he was sitting at his desk, sketching out something like the lamp on his bedside table, he would connect it to him. When it was broken when they were in a fight and he tried to turn away and he tripped over the tangled blanket hanging off the bed. If he was sketching out an apple, he would imagine the way he would take careful time to use a knife to take the peel off. He knew it was awful, how it was unhealthy to think so much of someone. To make them someone's everything.

Especially a villain. Someone who spent time devising plans and killing innocent people just to get what he wanted. It was wrong, so wrong, but Steve had given him a chance. Not to make up for what he'd done, not so he could tell Tony or Bruce or Natasha that he was just misunderstood. Not to be able to say that Loki had made a mistake and he should be forgiven, just a chance. A chance to know him, for whatever reason Steve really wanted.

But, he knows that all in all, Loki was the one who had initiated getting to know him. In the strangest ways, they had met drinking coffee in a small cafe, with Loki in normal human clothes that wasn't a nice suit but rather jeans, a bag on his shoulder full of books and his hair a mess.

They hadn't really talked the first day, just looked across the cafe a few times at each other, tensed up.

It was strange to think how much it changed. From Steve ready to open his phone and call for Tony or Clint, from Steve thinking that Loki was there as a big joke to kidnap him and torture him in any way he'd like, to something like this.

With lips that moved down further and further, the only thoughts in Steve's mind jumbled and uncontrollable. He thinks, as he shifts to allow Loki's fingers to slip into him, he doesn't know how he had ever truly managed to sit in his booth with a cold cup of coffee as he cautiously waited for Loki to spring into action. He doesn't know how a few days later he managed to allow himself to show back up at the cafe and sit across from him and ask about his book. He tries to remember how they always avoided the topic of 'you tried to kill me and my friends and the whole Earth', but he figures it was for the best, however he managed it.

Loki slips in easily, he moves slowly despite his ever so constant urges that Steve is too careful, and it takes until then to be really awake, his sense on edge. His eyes are already adjusting to the darkness, and he can't see anything in the room besides the light glow of the alarm clock in the room. He focuses closer, something seeming off but he's caught up in the scent of Loki all around him.

Steve lets himself lose himself in Loki, lets himself believe that they are normal and this is normal and isn't wrong at all and that if he were to ever tell anyone, they would smile and be happy. That if he lived a regular life, he could bring Loki home and wrap Christmas presents for him and kiss him under the mistletoe.

But as he lays down, Loki laying beside him, sweat and heat and exhaustion too heavy to bother cleaning up their mess, he lays and watches the clock on the bedside table. The glow of the blue letters reading three in the morning, and he knows what felt so off before. He had fallen asleep in his room, the alarm clock was red, the letters were shaped differently, and there was a lamp behind it that didn't have a floral print on it.

It doesn't really matter though, and he rolls over leaning against Loki until eventually, in an hour or so, Loki would pull him out of bed under a cold shower until he was fully awake. But currently, even with all of the bad things that Loki has done, that can never be forgiven, Steve feels at peace.


End file.
